


War brings many things

by Atria (AesonYestris)



Category: Guild Wars 2 (Video Game)
Genre: Asura (Guild Wars), Awakened, Charr (Guild Wars), Dragons, Mordrem (Guild Wars), Norn (Guild Wars), Risen, Sylvari (Guild Wars), Undead chicken, War, branded
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-15
Updated: 2020-09-15
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:47:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26475160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AesonYestris/pseuds/Atria
Summary: A whole story of Guild Wars 2 up to current moment shown in short scenes and descriptions. Possible spoilers but indirect.
Kudos: 5





	War brings many things

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Hawkseyebrow for beta reading and correcting!

War brings many things.

An empty bed. Untouched for weeks, yet still clean, kept tidy by a loving, waiting heart.

An undead chicken, first to be freed from its shackles. The magical ritual was fruitful. There is a way back. There is hope.

Tearful reunion. Whispers, shaking voice, hugs, kisses salty with tears of relief. Kept promises of return.

A small, green sapling, among others of its kind, slowly taking over a dreamlike landscape. A memory of years spent under the restless waves, finally ready to leave the stage for a new life.

Flowers‘ petals in the air. A first kiss of newlyweds. She is from Whispers, he is from Priory, they also have friends from Vigil. They met in a camp, when he was taking care of her injuries. These other orders are not that bad after all.

Farmers, tormented by a curse and a beast, at long last able to get back to their land. The familiar feeling of sun on their backs. Finally free from the ravenous hunger that was not theirs. Unable to rest, years after death, but at peace.

Barracks full of songs and laughter. There is time for fighting and there is time for celebration. It is earned and much needed. A sad smile and a toast for those who did not make it.

Lonely husk, lost in a jungle now so strange, quiet. Lost in thoughts that are its own for the first time. Taken by an Itzel tribe. It understands the jungle and they respect it. Their nimble fingers clean its elongated spikes from the rest of ashes and debris, while it listens to their tales. Not understanding the language, but understanding the power of words, their melody, telling great tales of the unknown awaiting.

Quiet whisper grows slowly into a loud song. They feel the eyes of other soldiers on their backs, the distrust in every word. Sylvari need each other more than ever. To keep each other safe, to hold this strangely familiar voice at bay, to save their minds and souls. Their song is in every camp, in every patrol, one thing allowing them to connect, fight the beast as one. Fear not this night.

Another grave without a name. A shallow one, no time for proper ceremonies. They burned the bodies. Ashes do not come back, ashes do not bear faces of your friends with minds that are not theirs.

A small pack of vinetooths, just four of them, resting at the bottom of the waterfall. Myriads of tiny droplets forming miniature rainbows around them. They like the gentle tickling of splashing water. The longer time they spend covered in the water, the more colourful flowers bloom on their backs. A bit bigger ones along the spine and smaller, but brighter ones among tangled vines forming their tail and limbs. They take great pride in their newfound beauty.

Singing together, a human and a charr. They carry the weight of old wars in their minds and new friendships in their hearts. It is hard to hate someone who saved your life. It is hard to see an enemy in a person bandaging your wounds. It is hard to think of a monster and listen to the story about their little child and its first words.

This roar was loud, he can still hear it somewhere deep within his mind. He answered the call. Now he carries the weight of memories. Faces of friends, long dead, gone. Voice that you cannot disobey. Deep connection that was always there, waiting for a moment of weakness. Now solitary sylvari embraces the quiet mind, trying to sort his life on a lonely rock.

Letters, hundreds of them, thousands. Somebody has to inform the families. It is not a duty of a new marshal, but something he decided to participate in. They deserve to know.

A flock of moa running away. One of them was standing too close to the red explosion. Now it is different. Aggressive. Deadly. They need to run to save their lives, not understanding the sudden change.

Three cats are still roaming in Fort Trinity. Soldiers left on guard feed them and care for them, but their master has not returned yet. How much longer shall they wait?

An asuran medic is even more determined than ever. She hates risen, they took her husband. But she was in Rata Novus when the Mursaat lost his disguise. And the flames of forged are a bit too familiar. They bring into her mind a picture of a fiery beast that took away home of her race. She already lost enough. No more.

A fireplace, surrounded by people entranced by stories. They tell tales of heroes, but not ancient ones. The new heroes walk among them and are made of flesh and blood, not legends and myths. A new inspiration for a new generation.

Lost souls, forcefully forged into cages made of armour and fire. After fighting a war that was not theirs, they can finally rest in peace.

First steps of a child. First steps in a new, different world. Parents bear new scars, new wrinkles, new fears. A child brings new hope, new joy, new beginning.

Temples without believers, priesthoods without gods. Sacred texts look gullible, prayers are now replaced by silence. Only desperate seek help in the walls which not that long ago housed hundreds of followers.

Another mother is mourning a lost child. Parents should never have to say this final goodbye. It is not the order of life.

An Awaken, holding its great granddaughter in arms for the first time. She is a young Shadow. Just a week ago they were mortal enemies, turned against each other by a strong grip of Scourge of Vabbi's hand.

New chance for sylvari, slowly rebuilding their reputation. They all bear marks of an elder dragon's touch. Immune to other beasts' corruption they will protect their allies, slowly gaining their trust once again.

A branded human, watching a large group of choya from a distance. Their needles are sharp and weirdly similar to its crystals. They dance oddly familiar, something from a past long behind. Day by day it gets closer. They do not attack, it is a peaceful tribe. There are no words but quiet understanding.

Once quiet, ocean sky is now dominated by a new race, roaming above an island built from mismatched pieces. A few kind souls and they have a chance to change this memory of terror and death into a monument of new life, change.

New warbands, new chance for gladiums, new families forming. Small girl waves to a flame shaman as she leaves, proudly clutching a sword in her arms. Just a month ago she wouldn't have had a chance to fight for herself and for her family.

Kodan hearing whispers closer and clearer than ever before. They take a deep breath of the icy air, keeping their minds strong. Harmony. They need to remember about harmony, watching yet another creature with fur covered in frosty armour but without a voice that would be their own. Another fire in the distance. Another explosion. Another tail of a great massacre. Deep breath. Stay strong. Do not yield. An iceberg is giving way to more horrors. Both sides bring dirty tricks to the table. Another breath. Listen to the words of this traveler next to you. Listen to their quiet, shaking voice. Fear not this night.

War brings many things.


End file.
